


Anyone Else But You

by buffydyke



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F, Fem!Oz, Female Oz, Fluff, Music, Song writing, The Moldy Peaches, character backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:55:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7643191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffydyke/pseuds/buffydyke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People write songs about girls like you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anyone Else But You

**Author's Note:**

> _You're a part time lover and a full time friend_   
>  _The monkey on your back is the latest trend_   
>  _I don't see what anyone can see_   
>  _In anyone else but you_
> 
>  
> 
> _I kiss you on the brain in the shadow of the train_  
>  _I kiss you all starry eyed, my body's swinging from side to side_  
>  _I don't see what anyone can see_  
>  _In anyone else but you_

Growing up, Oz had never been much of a talker.

It wasn't that she didn't know what to say. Her mind was a canvas of thoughts, a complex web of observations and consideration. No, Oz had plenty of things to say; it was translating those thoughts to words that troubled her. Words evaded her, caught in her throat and died until they were too long gone to matter. In the end, it was easier to not speak at all. 

At seven, Oz's mother enrolled her in piano lessons. Back then, it was just the two of them; Oz's father had long been a thing of distant memory, of fable and legend. But her mother managed, and she scrambled to find her daughter a creative outlet where art and writing had failed.

Music came naturally. Piano was like a second nature to her, an inborn skill that had been her in her blood from the beginning. But piano was fickle thing; a trade that couldn't fill her time for more than a few hours each week. It left a longing in her that couldn't be quelled. 

A few months later, Oz's mother bought her her first guitar. And the week after that, the lessons came.

Oz found her home between frets and strings, between melodies and unspoken ballads. She'd found her voice.

These days, words don't elude her quite so frequently; silence is more of a choice than a default, but the need for music remains. It's her way of expression, of finding her true self among the heap of thoughts that swirl through her head. Philosophizing could be tiring sometimes. 

"I wrote you a song," she says one day. She and Willow are in Oz's room, holed up on her mattress amongst a fortress of dirty laundry. Oz is many things, but tidy isn't one of them. 

At that, Willow blushes. "Oh, no! Are we exchanging early anniversary presents? Because I didn't bring mine. … Er, yours. Hold on, I could probably run home--"

"No," Oz interrupts. Her guitar sits beside them on the bed, the acoustic from so many years ago. It's old, now, small and battered, but she doesn't have it in her to get rid of it. "Not for the anniversary. Just because."

Willow lifts a brow. "Just because?"

"Because people write songs about girls like you," Oz says, and there's the tiniest tinge of a grin on her lips. "There's no words, but that shouldn't come as a surprise." 

"Oz, I--"

"Just listen," Oz says, and then the guitar's in her lap, and she's playing.

It's nothing complicating. Oz has always been better at writing music that's about what she feels, whether it's simple or complex. And this is a song about how she feels about Willow, and that's not complex: it's love. Simple, pure love.

It makes Oz's heart feel things she thought she'd never find anywhere but in music.

When she finishes, Willow looks like she could cry. "That was… beautiful," she says. "You wrote that about me?"

"Yeah," Oz replies, and she smiles in a way that leaves her heart on display. "I did."

She has more planned for their anniversary. She'll talk to Devon, see if he can help her to some words to it. He's always been better about that sort of thing.

When they play a song about Willow to a crowd, Oz can only imagine how she'll feel.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on [tumblr](http://wlwbuffy.tumblr.com).


End file.
